


the bad parts of you (are nothing I can't handle)

by TooRational



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Glenn Rhee Lives, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Podfic Welcome, Snark, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooRational/pseuds/TooRational
Summary: With a full-on scowl on his face, hands on his hips, and disbelief written all over him, Daryl stares at Paul."You love me," he says, flat as a pancake."Yes," Paul says.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus
Comments: 15
Kudos: 156





	the bad parts of you (are nothing I can't handle)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desushoard (tenderanglerfish)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderanglerfish/gifts).



> Written for my darling desushoard, for prompt number 56 'Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging' of the [Sensory prompts](https://toorational.tumblr.com/post/189875282768/64-sensory-prompts) on Tumblr.
> 
> This is what spilled out of me when I thought about the prompt; hope you like it! ♥

With a full-on scowl on his face, hands on his hips, and disbelief written all over him, Daryl stares at Paul.

"You love me," he says, flat as a pancake.

"Yes," Paul says, carefully keeping his breathing even through the rapid pounding of his heart. "I'm not telling you because I expect any—"

"No," Daryl says decisively.

Oh. 

Oh, that was… quick.

Well.

It's okay. It's _totally_ okay.

Paul tries to convince his heart that they expected this, they knew there was a strong possibility Daryl wasn't into men, or even just into Paul, and there's no need to shake itself apart into a million pieces _._

"You're not," Daryl continues, matter-of-fact.

Paul blinks at him.

_What?_

"What?"

"You can't be," Daryl says, as if that explains _anything_ at all.

Paul must be hearing this wrong.

He almost sticks a finger in his ear to check for blockage.

"You're confused, or— or— I dunno, you got a fever maybe. Lemme check if you got a fever."

Daryl presses a palm against Paul's forehead and squints into his eyes, like he can _see_ this magical, nonexistent fever.

This is getting more and more bizarre by the second.

"I'm not— I don't have a— _Hey_ , Daryl, _focus_ ," Paul bats away Daryl's thumbs, currently pulling down Paul's lower eyelids in an attempt to… _who the fuck knows what_ , and snaps his fingers in front of Daryl's face a few times.

Daryl leans back a bit, looking at him suspiciously. 

Paul takes a deep breath and says: "Okay, let's try this again."

"No," Daryl says with a stubborn shake of his head.

"No _what_? Because I don't quite understand what's going on right now," Paul snaps.

"You ain't in love with me, you're _wrong_ ," Daryl says slowly, as if explaining trigonometry to a squirrel.

"I'm not," Paul asks.

"Yeah, you're not."

This is the most ludicrous _conversation_ Paul has ever been a part of, let alone a confession-of-feelings attempt.

He tries a different approach: logic.

"Why would I be wrong about that? It's my head, my feelings. If it helps, I've never been wrong about it before?"

It comes a little more questioning and tentative than Paul meant, but it gets the point across.

"'Cause."

Wow.

Daryl Dixon: master of words, poet of a generation.

It's Paul's turn to try the flat-pancake-voice land: "Because what." 

"'Cause you're you and I'm me," Daryl says, probably thinking he's explaining but actually, really, truly _not_. Not even a little.

"Daryl, _why_ ," Paul says through gritted teeth.

"I'm redneck trash," Daryl says.

"No, you're not," Paul denies automatically, then adds, "And I know where you come from and how you were raised. I've known for years. You know where I'm from, too, right?"

"Of course," Daryl scoffs, like not knowing is preposterous.

It almost makes Paul give in to a smile.

Oh, if Daryl only knew the amount of people who _never_ listened to what Paul had to say, or to whom Paul never bothered saying anything more intimate than the description of yesterday's lunch. 

"So shut the fuck up, you're not redneck trash."

Daryl swipes a frustrated hand over his face, then crosses his arms over his chest.

"I've done shit, said shit, that's unforgivable. To Glenn, to Rick…"

That… sounds off.

Paul narrows his eyes. "When? Last time you saw them was weeks ago."

Daryl sets his jaw mulishly.

"Daryl."

Daryl mumbles into his chin.

"What was that?"

"..when we first met," he says, and Paul rolls his eyes.

Oh, wow, so years ago.

"Did you apologize? Were you a dick on purpose? Are you still doing it?"

"No, I never apologized for it! And I've been plenty of a dick, to both of 'em," Daryl says triumphantly.

Paul sighs. "Daryl, I'm sure they've forgiven you, and I've seen you with them, you're the furthest thing from a dick to them. I don't know what this has to do with—"

"I _ain't a good person_ , is the goddamn _point_ , okay?" Daryl hisses at him, and _oh_.

Oh, _Daryl._

"Yes, you are," Paul says gently and with a tiny bit of amusement.

"No, I _really_. _ain't_."

Paul opens his mouth to continue this kindergarten-level argument, because he'll be damned if Daryl beats him at a fight of any kind, _especially_ a verbal one, when Daryl steps in close and _unravels_.

"No, you shut up and _listen_. I've killed more folks than I can even remember. Not just walkers, not just to survive, I'm talkin' about damn _executions_. I got _my brother_ killed. I couldn't save Beth, or Abraham, or a whole _two-fucking-mile long_ list of people I cared about and shoulda protected. I've done and said so much shit in my life, it's.. I _know_ you'd hate me for some of it if you knew.

"So don't go tellin' me how you _feel_. Because you can't— you don't— you don't even know who I am. You don't know what you're _talking_ about."

Paul stares at Daryl's red face, his heaving chest, and abruptly runs out of all patience.

He takes Daryl by the vest, spins him around, and slams him against the nearest tree.

"Now _you_ listen to _me_ , you stupid, deluded son of a bitch."

The insults apparently get Daryl's attention, because he swallows, wide-eyed, but stays quiet. 

"You think I was born this way? Being a peacemaker and trying to fix shit? You think I don't have skeletons in my closet, things I'll regret for the rest of my life? Nightmares I still wake up from, where _I'm_ the bad guy?

"I wanted to _burn the world down_ , from before I can remember all the way to my twenties. A kid tried to steal my pen when I was twelve so I _stabbed him_ with it, straight through the hand. I've also killed people, for all sorts of reasons. Does it really matter what the reason is? They still ended up dead.

"The world is far away from black and white, and even further from the pretend-civilization we had. At least now people are honest and try to kill you for resources or leave you to die if you're of no use to them. It's downright _fucking_ refreshing.

"My point being, I've seen evil, and bad men. I've _been_ a bad man myself on occasion. And _you're_ not one. You're not cruel, or malicious. No matter what you said or did before, you've changed. You're doing your best. You're trying to heal the world, help people, build a better society for the future. You saved so many lives, not only directly, but by feeding and clothing and protecting people. _That's_ how you find redemption, Daryl. That's work that's slow and painstaking, and it lasts until the _day you die_.

"So I suggest you give me, and yourself, the benefit of the doubt. And _trust me_ to know my own mind and heart."

Okay, so apparently Paul had Things To Say on this topic. _A lot_ of them.

The abrupt relief and pleasant exhaustion in his chest is kind of amazing.

Daryl is still pressed between Paul and the tree, silent, but with a look on his face that reminds Paul of a spark of light in a dark room. He considers moving away, giving Daryl some space, but there was plenty of time and opportunity for Daryl to push him away and it hasn't happened yet, so.

One final try and Paul's out.

"Now. Let's try this again," Paul says, and wonders why the fuck he's nervous again. "Daryl. I'm pretty sure I love you, even when you're being a total dumbass. Do you have any thoughts about that, or anything to say to me, or do you want me to get over it and for us to ignore it like it never happened?"

'Getting over' is a bit of a generous concept, Paul is pretty sure he'd pine and suffer for a long time, but that's not on Daryl. Paul's heart is his own business, and sadly, a very stubborn and faithful organ.

Daryl breaks eye contact and bows his head a little, hair falling into his eyes.

"I'm... are you sure? 'Cause that still sounds nuttier than pecan pie to me."

Oh, for _fuck's sake_.

Paul covers his face with his palms in exasperation and sighs.

He's not even surprised or hurt anymore. He's just… resigned.

And an absolute fool in love.

"Yes, I'm sure," he mumbles, muffled.

"I've never been… never had anyone. For myself," Daryl says softly.

Paul peeks through his fingers.

That wasn't a no.

Daryl's watching him through his bangs, eyes an incredibly vulnerable shade of blue.

"Okay," Paul says quietly. "I don't care."

"Never liked a guy before, either," Daryl says, a bit louder now, defiant.

"Still don't care," Paul says with eyebrows raised.

His heart is starting to beat faster, the stupid, hopeful organ.

Daryl chews on his lip.

"...okay," he says finally.

Okay?

Okay _what_?!

"Okay what?" Paul asks.

"Okay, I believe you."

He bel—

He _believes him_?

Oh, that _infuriating_ , bone-headed, thick _asshole_ , Paul is gonna _strangle_ him with his _bare hands_ , what the _fuck_ is he—

Daryl swoops in and kisses Paul, sudden and clumsy, before Paul can do more than sputter in outrage.

It's chaste and unsteady, a smush of lips that says 'hi' more than anything else, but it's...

It's fucking _adorable_.

Relief and joy flutter all through Paul's body, stronger than he'd felt in a long time, and Paul smiles into the kiss. It makes the kissing basically impossible but he's too happy to care.

"You asshole," he says to Daryl when he pulls back, and Daryl just blinks at him in confusion. He licks his upper lip like he's chasing Paul's taste and _oh_.

Yes, _kissing_ , right.

Paul pulls Daryl back in, kisses him deep and wet, delighting in the involuntary little cut-off moans he draws out of Daryl, and the way Daryl's hands slide around him, at first tentatively then more and more confident until Daryl has him in a grip so tight, it might leave bruises.

 _Finally_ , bruises that originated from enjoyment, not from training or life-threatening situations. Paul would laugh to expel the coke-and-menthos amount of feelings running through him at the moment, but his mouth is busy. Better things to do and all.

And hey, Daryl _did_ say he never had a person of his own, so Paul has a mission now: educate the lovely hunter-gatherer-provider in the fine art of making out.

Paul smirks, bites Daryl's lip playfully, then sets to doing his task thoroughly and diligently.

(They get _very_ good at it.)

**Author's Note:**

> [Me, at the tumblrz.](https://toorational.tumblr.com/)


End file.
